


Lay down in my arms and rescue me

by maxette



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxette/pseuds/maxette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do <em>you</em> want, Niall?”</p><p>“Anything you want, I want it, too. Whatever you want from me, I want to give it to you.”</p><p>Harry nods jerkily. “Okay. Okay, thank you. I love you.”</p><p><em>It’s enough.</em> However he means it, however much, it has to be enough for Niall.</p><p> </p><p>Niall's relationship with Harry would be perfect if his omega wasn't in love with someone else. OR IS HE?? Harry takes advantage of the time they're stuck together, knotted, to clear the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay down in my arms and rescue me

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an omgea verse but it ISN’T A SEQUEL to _[Tonight You’re Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1091209)_ (I’m sorry I’m garbage) and the rules aren’t even the same! Heats can’t happen every month in this world, nor are omegas so dependent on being knotted, because plot. Betas don't even exist in this world! Whee! My world building is 100% plot devices. 
> 
> Also, this miiight read like a treatise against Larry shippers. I’ve got nothing against Larry, though it's not my cup of tea. And I’ve got nothing against shippers who have fun with other fans and leave the real people alone with their real lives! You guys are great. But, assuming it’s not real, I bet some of the crazy has taken a toll on the boys’ real relationships and partners… particularly Louis and Eleanor. Poor Eleanor and the endless vitriol on her Instagram! I didn’t write this because of that, but it definitely played a part once I got going. 
> 
> Finally, this thing is like crème brûlée, little torched layer of angst at the beginning and then indefensibly schmoopy custard to the end.

Niall jerks awake to Harry whispering in his ear. “Niall?” 

It’s late. Past two in the morning for sure because that’s what time it was the last time Niall checked the glowing red alarm clock because he couldn’t sleep because the left side of the bed was empty because Harry wasn’t there.

It hasn’t always been like this. Less than a year ago Niall slept in the center of his bed and any omega who found themselves there after sex could cuddle up beside him, or go home if they preferred. Niall wasn’t bothered either way. Now he has a side, the right side, which feels badly balanced if Harry isn’t lying next to him.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Niall says. He managed to fall asleep, but not very deeply, just enough to make him groggy now. “Where have you been?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

Niall sits up and rubs his arm across his eyes. Harry is lying on his side of the bed now, on top of the covers, flushed and damp with sweat, his cock stiff against his belly. Niall rakes his eyes over Harry’s body, grogginess gone, alert like all his nerve endings have been lit on fire. Harry’s wearing nothing but one of Niall’s dress shirts, out of the laundry bin if he remembers right, unbuttoned, a little too small for him and straining across his shoulders.

“I—I can’t sleep because—mmm, ‘cause I’m so horny, Ni.” 

Niall swallows a moan and allows his hand to fall onto Harry’s shoulder, the most intimate thing he feels safe to do right now. Harry nuzzles his cheek against Niall’s fingers. 

“Please, please—I need you to fuck me. Would you mind? I know you haven’t in—a while, which is—well, but I’m really hoping you will tonight. Now, um—maybe? I really need your cock—I need to feel you inside me, please, Niall, please—”

Harry has inched closer and closer as he begged and now their faces are just a couple inches apart. Niall can’t resist him when he’s this close. He doesn’t even want to. And he shouldn’t have to! Harry is his fucking omega— _his_. This is supposed to be the easy part, the cornerstone that they build the rest of their lives around, that makes everything else steadier and simpler and better.

So they hadn’t chosen each other. They both knew the deal when they applied for the seventh series of reality show _Meet Your Match_. They were putting their love lives in the hands of a panel of matchmakers. Thousands of people from the UK and Ireland sent in an application every year, inspired by the dozens of happy couples that had been introduced in past series.  Every match made in the history of the show was, so far, still together. Niall never expected to be called in for an in-person interview, never mind to be one of the final twelve alphas paired with one of twelve omegas. Finalists were ostensibly chosen based on compatibility with one of the other finalists, but everyone knew general likability and the tendency to make drama were major contributing factors. 

That fit Louis Tomlinson to a T. Everyone adored Louis, Niall included, even now. Reading articles about the show after it aired, Niall learned that the network credited the best ratings they’d ever had entirely to him. Every week since the show ended Louis has had a story about about the the latest attempt to woo him into a spin-off show about newlywed life. The internet also told him that the audience, nine million strong for the finale—every single of them, as far as Niall could tell—was rooting for Louis to end up with Harry. It was down to Louis, Harry, Niall, and Liam Payne, who was as uncharacteristically big for an omega as Niall was small for an alpha. 

A decent few viewers were enthusiastic about the two of them ending up together, as well. One Tumblr he came across was called “Just the right size,” which, apparently, was what Niall had told Liam he was one night while they sat close together under moonlight. He watched the video clip, and he’s seen about a hundred gif sets of it by now. It’s a very romantic moment. He can’t remember saying it for the life of him. It could have happened most any night of the twelve weeks they lived together. They were always chilling out by the pool after dinner. 

He got where their supporters were coming from. It made sense, him and Liam. Once it was down to the final two matches, Niall didn’t have a doubt that they would be matched and he was determined to be satisfied with that. He loved Liam, really, and if it wasn’t the shivery fireworks kind of love he was hoping for, well—romantic movies had set up an unrealistic ideal, that’s all. The way Harry made him feel like his organs were rearranging themselves probably wasn’t healthy, anyway.  Liam was a wonderful person and incredibly fit. Niall could have done a lot worse and probably not nearly as well if left to his own devices.

And there was no alternative, really. Regardless of Niall and Harry’s compatibility, he was sure Liam could never be matched with Louis. They were constantly at each other’s throats. Most of the quality time Niall had gotten with Harry, in fact, was when Liam and Louis were ignoring them in favor of bickering with each other. In retrospect, he could have guessed that their fighting belied something deeper, that it was just one manifestation of the passion between them. 

Lilo, as the Twittersphere had taken to calling them, were the first match announced that night. For a long moment—made a bit longer in editing, Niall thought, but regardless—they just stared at each other. Then, as if someone had shot the starting gun, they rushed at each other, pressing their bodies together and kissing like—well, like they’d been waiting for someone to finally give them permission. 

Niall reached out and took Harry’s hand, running his thumb over the other boy’s knuckles. Harry gave him a watery little smile and threaded their fingers together. 

“I’m so sorry,” Niall said quietly, hoping that none of the microphones picked it up. 

“You—are?” Harry’s smile slipped off his face.

“Well, I—”

Harry looked down. “You don’t want me.”

“No!” Niall was confused. “That’s not—Harry, I—I just know you wanted Louis.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, turned his gaze to Louis and Liam, who still hadn’t come up for air, and then slowly back to Niall. What, did he think Niall hadn’t _noticed_ the way he looked at Louis like he’d hung the moon?

“That obvious, was I?”

Niall opened his mouth to say—something—but Harry stopped whatever it was in its tracks by leaning his head down and kissing him. It wasn’t a big kiss, like Louis and Liam’s. It was quick, gentle—sweet. 

Harry kissed him again on the jaw, on his cheek, his temple, up to his ear. “Don’t feel sorry for me, alpha,” he whispered. “Don’t you realize we won?”

Niall had not realized that. The show’s setup didn’t naturally lend itself to a grand prize, but the theory went that the earlier you were matched, the sooner you got to enjoy your life together. The longer you had to wait, the more fabulous perks from the show’s sponsors came with your match, as consolation. Harry and Niall, having had to wait the full twelve weeks, and a few minutes longer than Liam and Louis, were getting a Volkswagen each, a lifetime supply of Nabisco products, and more Calvin Klein pants than they could possibly wear, all on top of a fairly massive cash prize. 

It all really paled in comparison with Harry himself.

“Very well done, Harry,” the show’s host said, sticking his head in between them. Dermot gestured for the camera facing them to turn away, holding up the hand signal that Niall had come to learn meant _thirty second break_ , the longest the show runners let any of them go unrecorded _._ “I don’t know why—this result is as much a surprise to us as it is to you, but we really need you guys to look happy, all right?”

Harry twisted his face up and glared at Dermot. “No problem. Right, Niall?”

He nodded, helplessly. That was the thing of it—Niall _was_ happy. 

What this meant was really sinking in now and—happy? Jesus Christ, he was ecstatic. Harry. _Harry_. Sweet, funny, gorgeous Harry Styles, who made a point to remember the name of every single crew member on the show, from the executive producers down to the personal assistants—who figured out how to use the space age washing machine with Niall whilst wearing nothing but his tight white briefs—who loved bananas and one morning thanked Niall with a kiss on the cheek for saving him the last one—who refused to get a haircut no matter how many people side eyed him and once used one of Niall’s vests as a headband without asking—who had spent the vast majority of the time Niall had known him talking, laughing, snuggling or otherwise preoccupied with Louis, but still managed to make Niall feel like the most important person alive at least once every day since the day they’d met. 

But then again, he made everybody feel like that.

Up until the final match ceremony, Niall thought he understood the matchmakers’ logic in keeping Harry and Louis here for so long. Harry was the catch of the century. And Louis was the alpha he wanted. Who cared about suspense, or surprise? They _deserved_ a grand finale, and all the prizes and celebration that came with it. Now it was clear that the matchmakers were ratings-mongering hacks with no logic driving their decisions at all. 

Watching their reactions on the broadcast, Niall thought they both followed Dermot’s directions pretty well. Niall looked like the floor had dropped out from under him and Harry was the only thing keeping him from falling into the core of the earth. Harry just looked radiant, as always, as if that was the easiest job he’d ever been given.

“Harry,” Dermot said to them, “Niall, that means you two are the final match of the series. Congratulations! What are you feeling right now?”

Niall just looked at Harry for a moment. He could feel his mouth hanging open, waiting for words worth using. Finally he told the truth: “Pretty sure I’m the luckiest man in the world tonight.”

Harry laughed, covering his face with his hands, and when he looked at Niall again, there were tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Niall whispered. 

He cupped his hands around Harry’s face and brushed the tears away with his thumbs, pressed a gentle kiss to his right eye, then his left, and then another to his mouth. Harry surged forward, wrapping his arms around Niall’s neck and pressing his whole body against Niall’s. Niall felt his cock thickening as Harry fit himself against him, felt Harry’s respond in kind.  

“You’re lucky?” Harry pulled back a little to scream at him. “You think _you’re_ lucky? I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you and you think—I’m the lucky one, Dermot,” he said, hugging Niall to him tightly and looking at the show’s host over Niall’s head. “I really didn’t see this coming, but I couldn’t be happier.”

 _I love you_ , he said. Shouldn’t it be easy after that? 

But it isn’t. 

Harry and Niall took a flat in London and moved in together. Harry was in his last year at university and they found a place that was close to campus, and to his part time job at the bakery and Niall’s full time indentured service at the radio. It also happened to be in the same building as Liam and Louis, and Zayn and Perrie—one of the earliest matches made on the show, who still managed to become some of Niall’s best friends. It should be perfect, living so close to some of his favorite people, but . . . well, Harry _still_ spends most of his free time with Louis—and Niall, and Liam, and Zayn, and his sister, and loads of other people, too, but Louis is the constant. 

Niall just can’t shake the idea that he didn’t really win Harry. Match or not, he’s the runner up. No, not even second in line, just—convenient. He’s an alpha, with a body built to fit with Harry’s body, and Harry genuinely likes him as a person, too—loves him, sure, Niall’s not so insecure he can’t see that—but Louis is the one he really wants. Louis will always be the one he really wants. His relationship with Louis, however he can get it, is the cornerstone that Harry wants to build his life around.

For the first months they lived together, Niall didn’t let that knowledge influence how he treated Harry. He was a jealous, possessive git, and Harry couldn’t help how he felt, and, really, Niall didn’t blame him. He’s lucky to have any part of Harry at all. 

Logic can’t stop him from wanting _all_ of him, though. The more time they spend together Niall only wants it more. And now it’s starting to show. 

In the last few weeks Niall hasn’t been able to bring himself to fuck Harry. They still have sex every night, and most mornings, too, but knowing that he’s little more than a convenient knot, wondering if he imagines Louis’ face when he closes his eyes—it’s too much. Harry’s body under his mouth distracts him completely from his poisonous thoughts, and he’s usually thirty seconds from coming himself when Harry goes to return the favor, so his own pleasure keeps him focused till the end. 

He wasn’t sure if Harry had even noticed it’s been nothing but oral for a while. Now that he knows he has, vindication is warring with guilt inside him. He has responsibilities as Harry’s alpha, but he wants so much for Harry to _want_ it—want him. 

“Would you mind—” Harry straddles Niall’s leg and grinds his cock into Niall’s thigh. “—I don’t need it all the time, but I need it at least sometimes—I need it real bad, Ni, please—I just need to feel you inside me.”

So close—but _need_ isn’t the same thing as _want_. 

Niall doesn’t know what to do. He wants to fuck Harry—of course he does—but he doesn’t want to fuck Harry as a substitute for Louis. He doesn’t want to lie about why he doesn’t want to.  But he _really_ doesn’t want to tell the truth. It’s pathetic, and it’s possible that Harry will stop wanting to have sex at all in response, will find someone who can be satisfied with having his beautiful body—alphas who’d take Niall’s place aren’t thin on the ground. And Niall’s body is responding to Harry’s just fine, his alpha instinct is thrumming with the need to give Harry what he needs, give it to him well, and before anybody else does.

Harry rolls off of Niall and onto his back, far enough away that Niall can’t touch him anymore. He covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. Never mind. I’ll just—I’ll come to bed in a little while.” Niall grabs him around the waist as he sits up, and pulls him back against him. Harry responds immediately, pressing his nose under Niall’s jaw and taking a deep breath. Niall inhales Harry’s scent in kind.

No one’s ever smelled so good to him, not even close.

He’ll do anything to keep this.  

“I tried Marcel, but—” Harry swallows, pressing his forehead into the curve of Niall’s shoulder. Niall trails his hand down Harry’s side, making him shiver, until he reaches Harry’s arse, cupping one round cheek in his hand—possessively, maybe—he can cop to that. Marcel is what Harry calls his outrageously realistic dildo. It’s covered in the most skin-like material Niall’s ever felt, pale pink and lightly veined. You fill it with hot water from the kettle and it circulates inside, imitating the heat and flow of blood. A knot forms on its own, cleverly timed to match an omega’s orgasm based on the rhythm of thrusting and pressure of muscles around it. Harry has only ever had two things up his arse: Niall’s cock— “I was waiting for the right alpha,” Harry explained, and Niall, as much as he was honored and grateful, hated that Harry gave up on that plan because of some idiot matchmakers—and that dildo. It’s bigger than Niall—fatter, if not much longer—and he’s always been a bit jealous of it. 

Harry may have driven him a bit mad overall. 

“It didn’t satisfy you?” Niall says. He wriggles his briefs off his hips to spring free his cock, kicking them off and the sheets to the end of the bed at once.

“I used to love it, but now—it’s not the same,” Harry says, taking Niall’s cock in both his hands, like Niall hoped he would. “It doesn’t fill me up properly at all.”

“You need a real alpha to fill you properly?”

“No,” Harry says, frowning. “I want—” His next word dissolves into a moan when Niall slips his hand inside the leg of Harry’s briefs and runs his fingers along the crease of Harry’s arse. He’s committed to giving Harry his knot now, and he wants to pretend that’s _exactly_ what Harry wants, straight from his wildest dreams.

Niall kisses the top of Harry’s head, the closest part of him Niall can reach, and keeps kissing his way down his face as Harry raises his mouth to meet him. The moment their lips touch is like reaching an oasis, every time, in the desert that is the rest of his unkissed life. Niall could never do this enough. Harry’s mouth was meant to be kissed. 

Harry sits up and pulls his shirt off—Niall’s shirt—and yanking it down beside them. 

“Did you put this on because it smells like me?” Niall nearly growls at the very idea. 

“Smells so good,“ Harry moans, but that’s not a confirmation, really, and smelling the shirt now, beneath Harry’s overwhelming sent, Niall can smell Louis and Liam just as clearly as he smells himself. Niall’s shirt might well be the closest Harry could get to Louis. 

Niall gets up on his knees so he and Harry are kneeling in front of each other. Harry ducks down to kiss him again, but Niall grabs him first, turns him and pushes him lightly, silently asking him to bend forward. Harry resists, watching Niall with an inscrutable expression. Then his shoulders sag and he drops down onto his hands and knees. 

This will be easier from behind. If Harry wants to picture someone else, Niall can do the same. Not that he wants to. God, not that he _could_. Even from behind, this body is so clearly Harry. That’s most certainly his hair—the soft curve of his ribs—the birthmarks dotting his pale skin—his scrubby collection of tattoos creeping over from the front. 

“No!” Harry says, shooting upright again and turning to look at Niall. “Actually, no. I have been waiting five weeks and three days for this, you can at least—you’re fucking _me_ , Niall. This is _you_ fucking _me_ , okay?” Harry’s voice is shaking. “You can’t just close your eyes—”

“ _I_ can’t? I would _never_ ,” Niall tells him. “Even if I wanted—you’re so—”

“I’m your omega.”

“I know you are.” In his own heart, at least, that’s true. Harry is everything Niall ever wanted. “You’re mine.”

Harry lets out a breath, nodding. “Fucking right I am.”

Niall puts his arms around Harry’s waist and wrenches him against him. “You are _mine_.”

Harry only squeaks in response this time, pressing his forehead to Niall’s shoulder and baring his throat to Niall’s bite. Niall presses his teeth to the tender skin and muscle, relishing the way Harry goes slack, giving himself over to Niall completely. 

Niall sits back, knees bent and legs spread apart, and pulls Harry to him so he’s straddling his lap. Harry sits back on his heels, naturally spreading his arse cheeks. Niall takes his own cock in his hand and drags the leaking head over Harry’s hole. “Let’s do it like this.” With his free hand Niall grabs Harry by the back of the head, positions him so their foreheads press together. “Take what you want.”

“What do _you_ want, Niall?”

“Anything you want, I want it, too. Whatever you want from me, I want to give it to you.”

Harry nods jerkily. “Okay. Okay, thank you. I love you.”

 _It’s enough_. However he means it, however much, it has to be enough for Niall. 

“I love you, too. I’m sorry I haven’t—it’s not that I don’t—I love being inside you. I love you so much, Haz.”

Harry kisses Niall and starts sinking down on his cock, slow and steady, so hot and tight around him Niall can barely stand it. Harry takes him to the root and holds still for a moment, clenching around him. Niall can already feel his knot starting to form.

“I’m not going to last long,” he says. 

Harry rises up, slams down on Niall’s cock again, and comes, shooting slick like a geyser, hitting Niall on the forehead. Harry falls forward and whimpers into Niall’s chest, still fucking himself with long, even thrusts on Niall’s cock. “It’s so much better like this,” Harry says. “It’s so much better than anything else in the world.” 

Niall puts his arms around Harry and brings him closer so they’re pressed together from shoulders to waist. They’re eye to eye now and Harry’s looking at him unwaveringly. Niall noticed Harry’s tendency to do this the day they met. When most people would look away, run their gaze around the room or check on their nails, Harry just keeps looking at you, like the intimacy fuels him when it would frighten anyone else. It frightens Niall now, in a way it didn’t before they were matched. What will Harry see? What will finally make him leave Niall? Harry must have seen it all before Niall knew to be scared, though. Harry had to have known what he was getting into.

Niall’s hips lurch up to meet Harry’s as he gets closer, finally grabbing Harry’s hips and holding him down as he comes deep inside him, and his knot expands. Harry’s internal muscles tightening around him as he comes again, a weaker stream of slick shooting between them. Niall wipes them down with the shirt Harry was wearing earlier and then repositions them so they’re lying on their sides. 

Niall’s knot lasts longer with Harry than it ever did before. Usually they kiss for a while and fall asleep still tied. Niall wakes up a while later, when his knot goes down, enough to clean them up, make sure Harry’s not in a wet spot, tuck the blankets around him and settle back in, next to him. 

But tonight Harry seems wide-awake, watching him. “I needed your knot.” Niall feels his arse tighten around him as he says it. “But I need your hands on me, need to look into your eyes, need—need you to kiss me, Ni—I need to taste you and feel you just—everywhere. I need all that just as badly.”

“Me?” Niall says, after a beat, very quietly. 

“Yes, you! Who else? You’re my alpha, Niall.”

“Thanks to the show.”

“Well, yes,” Harry says, his tone hesitant in response to Niall’s hostile one. “Obviously. Right?”

“So if the show had told you Louis was your alpha—”

Harry pushes himself up onto his forearm. “It didn’t.”

“But if it—”

“It never would have.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Oh, right, of _course_ not.” Niall groans as Harry sits up the rest of the way, pushing Niall onto his back and sitting on top of him, but he stays focused. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to _do_ this. “Why would the matchmakers have ever matched you with the fittest alpha of the series—”

“ _Fittest_ —is very debatable.”

“—who everyone adored—” 

“Okay, really—”

“—who you spent every waking moment with, who—”

“Who I’m not in love with!”

Niall sucks in a breath. He—isn’t? If Niall’s sure of one thing it’s that Harry wouldn’t lie to his face. That’s the main reason he’s never brought this up before. He didn’t want to hear the truth.

“How could they have matched me with _anyone_ but—Jesus, Niall, you spent every waking moment with him, too!” Harry smacks him beneath the ribs with both hands. “And with me. And with Liam. Do you know there’s a group of fans who wanted the four of us to become the show’s first poly match? There was a petition and everything. They got a hundred thousand signatures!”

Niall laughs, closing his eyes. He can’t look at Harry right now. “No, I didn’t stumble on that one.”

“You and Liam sleep in, Niall.”

“We—” What does that have to do with anything? Niall looks at Harry again. “I sleep in?”

“If you don’t have a round of golf to wake up for, you sleep in!”

“Yeah? We were all up till the wee hours and—”

“You two were. If I spent more time with Louis it’s because I didn’t want to intrude on your special after dark pool dates with Liam—” 

“Pool dates! Everyone mucked around the pool after dinner—”

“Sure, but you and Liam, you—like—shared a chaise—”

“You and Louis shared a fucking exercise bike!” 

And an armchair and a kitchen stool and a bed and—

“We did?” Harry looks confused and Niall can’t believe he doesn’t remember. The image is seared in Niall’s brain, their motions so much like fucking, identical euphoric expressions on their faces. Niall can see the recognition on his face. “One time!” 

“Twice.” Though the second time was a lot faster and less sexual and only happened because Tommo couldn’t help but go through with a dare, peddling one mile in five minutes without dropping Harry from his lap.

“ _Anyway_ , Louis always woke up before noon with me, and made some tea, and—and then when you _did_ wake up you always seemed to have _things_ to do—”

“Things! Well, I certainly didn’t seem needed in your cuddle sessions with Louis—”

“Cuddle sessions!”

“—but eventually I couldn’t stand not being with you any longer and I’d interrupt.”

“Interrupt! You—” He sucks in a breath. Niall doesn’t know what triggers the change, but Harry’s eyes go soft and he runs his hand slowly over Niall’s shoulders. “You couldn’t stand—you really thought you were interrupting?”

Niall shrugs, embarrassed now. Harry catches his chin and holds him firmly, won’t let him look away.

“You thought I didn’t want you there?”

“I mean, I didn't think you wanted me to _leave_ or—I didn’t think you cared—I mean, one way or the other, really.”

“How could you think that? Niall, how did you not know—I watched you all the time.”

He most definitely had _not_. Niall would have noticed that. Though—“I tried not to look at you unless I had a good excuse. It made me crazy seeing you with Louis and I didn’t want to seem like a desperate, creepy—”

“Never! God, Niall, I felt it like a lightning strike every time I caught your eyes on me. I leaked slick like crazy when you were around. You didn’t notice that?”

“We lived with upwards of a dozen omegas and their hyper-compatible alphas. The whole house smelled like slick.”

“Yeah, but—” Harry looks away from him, stops his gentle grinding on Niall’s knot. “I guess it’s kind of a fairy tale, but I thought you’d be able to single out _my_ scent.”

Niall reaches up to Harry’s face and cups his hands around his jaw. “Put me blindfolded in a room of a thousand omegas in heat, and I’d find you. I thought you were wet for Louis. I thought—I thought you lived and breathed for Louis from the first day, Haz. I thought I didn’t have a chance.”

Harry leans down and pulls Niall up to kiss him furiously, like he’s trying to suck some sense into Niall’s head through his tongue. 

“But then we were matched! Didn’t that tell you something?”

“A fluke! I thought I was a lucky bastard, and not so stupid that I wouldn’t take advantage of it—” Niall runs his thumb over Harry’s full lower lip. “—but I thought _you_ thought I was decent enough alternative, if you’d never have Louis, but nothing compared—”

“I lied before,” Harry says, sitting up again, “when I said the matchmakers never would have matched me with Louis.”

“You did?” It’s like a kick in the chest, even with the heat of Harry’s kiss still on his mouth.

“Well, no—now I’m really sure they never would have—the show has a 0% separation rate for a reason—but the night before the last match I was so scared that’s how it was going to go. I pulled Louis into the loo with me and—”

“I remember. That half hour you spent in the toilet with him is mostly why I was so surprised when you told me you had never taken a knot before. I kicked a hole in the wall that night, imagining Louis fucking you.”

“Your foot!” Harry leans back to pet his left ankle, as close to his foot as he can reach, as if it’s still the swollen, bruised mess it was after his little outburst, as if all the careful petting Harry provided did anything to help at the time. Or maybe it did. Harry’s pretty extraordinary. Maybe he has healing hands. Niall smiles, thumbing over the sharp jut his hipbone, and Harry turns back to glare at him. “You said you tripped over a lawn chair!”

“Yes, I know I did.”

Harry rolls his eyes and then rolls his hips around Niall’s knot just to punish him. Niall groans and squeezes his eyes shut as he comes again, gripping Harry’s thighs with both his hands. “Well, Louis wasn’t fucking me,” Harry gasps, a little out of breath. “God, that was the last thing on my mind. I just needed to get him away from the cameras and tell him, whatever the result, I could never love him like that. He laughed in my face. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘You’re like my little sister.’”

His little sister—pah! Though Louis is very affectionate with his actual little sisters. The way he treats Harry really isn't so different. Versus the way he treats his boyfriend . . . Louis rarely touches Liam in public, except to pinch his nipple or take off his shoe and throw it across the room or some other stupid mischief. If he touches Liam anymore tenderly than that—or, more likely, if Liam touches him—it’s a good bet he’ll drag him somewhere less public within a few minutes.

“We worked out a plan,” Harry continues, “that we’d give good kiss for the audience and get a place together—in America maybe, somewhere sunny, or—just far, far away from you and Liam because I knew that seeing you happy together would kill me. I was going to spend a year licking my wounds and then quietly start dating again, once the _Daily Star_ wouldn’t make a fortune putting it on the front page, and try to find—a decent enough alternative, some alpha who’d miraculously manage to be attractive to me, without coming off as some knockoff version of you. I didn’t have much hope.”

“Harry, no! Really?” Niall sits up as well as he can and Harry obligingly bends forward, meeting Niall’s kiss with an equally hungry, open mouth. After a minute Niall can’t hold the crunch position any longer, and he falls back against the pillows, but he runs his hands over Harry so not to break contact. Even being knotted with him isn’t close enough. 

Imagine Harry leaving the country. Imagine if Harry and Louis had gone to Los Angeles or somewhere else across the world and Niall was left—“Oh, fucking—and I was planning to have a go of it with Payno! Imagine if the matchmakers had—”

“—been fucking frauds and completely destroyed my life? Yeah, I’ve imagined it. I had nightmares about you going home with someone else for twelve weeks. Imagine if the results came from public votes, like a talent show? We’d be in a foursome right now.”

“No way. You and Louis would have been the first match. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed me.”

“Nope. You’d ruined me for anyone else long before the first match, Horan. I remember thinking, _what are the chances there’s no one better for him than me?_ I thought it would be you and Zayn before he was matched with Perrie—”

“Zayn’s an alpha!”

“They’ve matched alphas before! You adored each other.”

Niall can’t stop laughing. By that logic, Zayn could have ended up with Harry, too—or Liam, or Louis, really, though it was clear to Niall that he was going home with Perrie from the first day. “Yeah, Harry, okay.” 

“I thought it would be you and Barbara—you and Ellie—you and Ashton.” 

Niall’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard. He would have happily taken any of them to dinner, but more than that? No way. After Niall met Harry, he couldn’t imagine even taking someone else into his bed.

“But it didn’t matter if I had a chance,” Harry says. “I loved you from the moment I saw you.”

That finally makes Niall calm down. Harry declared his love at first sight to nine million viewers during the finale, but Niall has never bought it, and he raises an eyebrow in response now. “Really.”

“Well, maybe I wasn’t in love until a few days in.”

“A few days?” Niall still doesn’t buy it.

“Three days,” Harry says firmly. “Remember when we stayed up all night and you taught me how to play ‘Good Riddance’ on the guitar?” 

Of course he does. He didn’t even notice the time passing until sunrise started creeping through the windows. Once Harry had it down, Niall set up his webcam on the coffee table, and they filmed a video of Harry playing and singing, Niall harmonizing and gazing at him like a lovesick fool. Niall uploaded it to his YouTube channel, Harry draped over his back watching him do it, saying things like, “Look at you, pop star—you’ve got proper fans! Twenty four thousand people?” as if that was a lot. To this day, the most thumbed up comment on that video was, _nice try niall but harry was singing this for louis sorry._ His subscriber count had increased a hundredfold since he became something of a celebrity, all thanks to people who want to remind him that Harry doesn’t really love him every time he uploads a new video.

“That was the first time we were alone together. God, I wouldn’t have gone to bed for anything. I had so much fun with you. And you made me feel like a rock god,” Harry says. “Then I Googled it that afternoon and it turns out it’s one of the easiest songs ever.” 

Harry’s never told him that! Niall’s embarrassed now. He had, truth be told, absolutely picked that song so Harry would feel good about himself, but—“It’s still a great song! And it’s no fun to feel crap at guitar. You learned a ton that night, anyway—I wasn’t lying about being impressed. You—”

“ _You_ are wonderful, Niall. That was when I knew I was in love with you. But it was _lust_ at first sight, no question—stronger than I’d ever felt before. I thought about you across the hall the first night, imagined your hands on my skin, hot and soft and calloused—imagined you playing me like you did your guitar—you had it in your arms all the time at first—” He hadn’t realized it at the time, but after watching a few episodes Niall realized he used his little Taylor acoustic like a security blanket. “that’s why I asked you for a lesson—I just wanted to watch you play when no one else was around—a private show—skilled and gentle and so _focused_.”

Harry takes Niall’s hand in both of his and threads their fingers together, and there’s something about the way Harry pets the tough tips of Niall’s fingers that makes it sink in. 

“Wait—you love me. You _love_ me.”

Now Harry pulls Niall’s hand to his mouth and presses gentle kisses to his fingertips. “What did I _just_ say? Haven’t I told you that every day for the past six months?”

“Yes, but—well, you tell Liam you love him every day, as well.”

“I do love Liam. And say you love him just as much!”

“There you go. There are lots of ways to love someone. I just didn’t think you loved me like I loved you.”

“How do you love me, Niall?”

Niall doesn’t even know where to start. Harry doesn’t seem to mind his silence, leaning back on his hands and grinding on Niall’s knot in wide, steady circles as he waits. That just makes it harder to think, the little shit. Harry drives him crazy sometimes and Niall even loves _that_.

“You’re not perfect, you know,” he says finally.

“Very promising start, this.” Harry laughs. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“If your personality was split into two bodies, all your good in one and all your bad in the other and the good one was killed—”

“What the fuck?”

“I’d still take the bad one over any other person on earth.”

“So you love me for my body is what you’re saying,” Harry says, but Niall can tell by his face that he understands.

“It’s mostly them curls, really.” 

Harry grins and bends forward to shake his hair all over Niall’s face. Niall’s cock unceremoniously slips out of Harry’s hole with a _plop_ sound as he goes. With a burst of energy, Niall sits up and flips Harry over with him, onto his back. Harry’s legs are still splayed around Niall, which makes it very easy to wiggle down the mattress, settle Harry’s thighs over his shoulders, and lick a stripe across Harry’s sweet little pucker. 

The mixture of their come fills his senses and Niall can feel his whole body immediately, completely relax. He loves it here. It’s been no hardship using his mouth on Harry every night. Omegas are supposed to be the come-hungry ones, but there’s nothing so nice as eating Harry’s arse. He responds so beautifully to the attention, trembling and whimpering and stretching the sheets in his fists. He also tastes amazing, especially mixed with Niall’s come, the taste especially sweet to a possessive area of his brain. Niall makes him come three times, soaking the sheets in his slick and destroying any chance they have at sleeping in here tonight. No problem. That’s why they picked such a wide sofa. 

“Stop, stop,” Harry’s moaning now, as he scratches at Niall’s shoulders and grabs at his hair. Niall pulls back and Harry tugs him up, trying to bring them face-to-face. Niall goes, sloppily kissing his way up Harry’s fern leaves, belly button, butterfly, right nipple, and over to his left side sparrow. He wraps his arms around Harry and turns him on to his side, pulls him against Niall’s chest so they’re spooning. He savors the feeling for a moment, and then stretches his arm back, into the mini fridge that serves as a bedside table, and pulls out a bottle of water.

“Drink,” he says, holding the bottle up to Harry’s mouth like a baby and not taking it away until he dutifully empties it. 

“That’s how I love you, too,” Harry says softly. 

“For my body?” Niall says.

“Yes! I can look past your horrible personal traits for your your perfect body—” Niall snorts. “Don’t laugh! _It is_ perfect.”

No, _perfect_ is hardly the word to describe Niall’s body. Just to name a few things: he’s relentlessly skinny. His skin is as bad as when he was a teenager. One of his knees is a ticking time bomb, one step from giving out on him. Perfect’s not the word for Harry’s body either, exactly, but Niall can’t imagine a better one, any body he would rather touch. And that’s what made him laugh. It’s not that perfect is saying too much—it’s not saying enough. 

“You’ve got a belly,” Niall says, covering Harry’s little paunch with his hand. 

“I— _yeah_.” Harry has the audacity to blush at that. “It’s _hard_ to—”

“Harry! No, you don’t—I love it. You’re fucking shredded, mostly, and that’s—it’s so sexy, Haz, but I love all your soft spots, too, like your belly, and when your skin kind of bubbles over the waistband of your pants, and your puffy little tits—”

Harry interrupts him with a pitiful noise and Niall drags his gaze away from Harry’s softly rounded pecs back to his face. Harry blinks and tears flood from of his eyes. “Oh my god,” he says, turning his face into his pillow.

Christ, Niall never should have brought this up. “No, what’s wrong? Baby, no—you can work away your belly if you want to! However you look, I’ll—”

“You’ll love me! You love me. You _love_ me, Niall. You’re not the only one who gets that revelation tonight, okay?” Harry turns around and wraps his arms around Niall’s back, effectively hiding his face against Niall’s chest. “You actually—from the beginning I wasn’t sure if you really wanted me at all, and then, the past few weeks when you wouldn’t fuck me, I thought—god, I thought you wanted to end things, Ni. I thought you were trying to pluck up the balls, or trying to make me say it first—”

“You wanted to end things?”

“No!” Niall looks at him again and Harry takes the opportunity to kiss him. “Well, I wanted to end the abstinence. And I wanted you to tell me what was wrong so I could fix it. I was thinking of vacuuming more, or—cutting my hair—”

“I love your hair. I love our grimy carpet.”

“No, the carpet’s awful. We need to ask the landlord to rip it up.”

“Sure, but—Harry,” Niall says, “you are everything to me. And I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel that every day since the day we met. You should feel it in your bones.”

“You thought I was in love with Louis, you _blind_ , barmy Irishman! Though I—” Harry looks away from him. “I didn’t think you were _pining_ after him, but I did wonder if you wouldn’t have been just as happy with Liam.“

“ _That’s_ barmy. If you’re—the sun, then he’s—a torch. Like a shitty little keychain torch.”

“You’re a real poet.” He peppers kisses across Niall’s chest.

“Liam and I could have had a good go of it. If I’d known you were happy with Louis, I would have made an effort. But I never would have moved on, not really. I would have missed you for the rest of my life.”

“Do you want me to spend less time with him?”

“With Tommo? You’d do that?”

“Well—I’d try?” 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Of course I don’t want you to spend less time with him. He’s your best friend—”

“You’re my best friend.”

“I’m your alpha.”

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”

“But Louis is alright, too, yeah? You should spend all the time with him you like.”

“You won’t get jealous?”

“I can’t promise that. I might have to take it out on your arse.” Harry gasps, his whole body starting to tremble against Niall’s. “I might have to carry you away from him sometimes, fuck you in the toilet after dinner at theirs, make you scream so everyone can hear how much you’re mine.”

Harry reaches back between them and takes hold of Niall’s cock, achingly hard again, and slips it between his arse cheeks and through his slick-coated thighs. 

“How about right now, alpha?” Harry says. “You know they can hear us through this wall—we’ve heard them enough.”

“You’re sure you’re not too sensitive?” Harry’s cock is making a valiant effort at getting hard again, jerking when Niall takes it in his hand. “You’ve come five times already.”

“I like it when—” Harry gasps. “—it’s too much. Feeling like you’ve wrung me dry.”

“Yeah?”

“Always know you’ll take care of me after. Clean me up and tuck me in and make sure I’m not dehydrated in the morning—” Harry’s cock jerks again at that, as if those domestic attentions are a mad turn-on. 

Well. Niall can keep him satisfied there, no problem. 

Harry’s already pretty wrung out, loose as cooked spaghetti as Niall lays him on his back, raises his hips up, and spreads him open for Niall’s cock. He makes a sound like he’s dying as Niall thrusts into him, slow the first time. He snaps out and back in quickly the second time, making their headboard slam against the wall, and Harry starts crying out with every rough thrust after that, every time Niall strokes his prostate. Fuck, he really does want Louis and Liam to hear them. _We don’t want you_ , he’s shouting in his head, as if the other lads had given them a second thought since they were paired off. Niall lasts a lot longer this time, dragging three more exhausted bursts of slick from Harry’s cock as he fucks him relentlessly.

Finally they’re tied together again, lying in one giant wet spot that is the bed. It’s definitely laundry day tomorrow. Pounding comes through the wall behind the bed. “If you’re quite finished—” Louis shouts, muffled. 

“We’re not!” Niall shouts back. Harry grins up at him and Niall smoothes his hair over his forehead. “We’re just getting started.”

“It’s four in the fucking morning, you fuckers!” says Liam.

“Poor Liam!” Harry calls out, his voice hoarse. “Why don’t you tweet about it, then?”

All they can hear is muttering after that and, after a few minutes, the skin slapping and moaning sounds of Louis and Liam fucking that he and Niall have come to know well. That’s the perfect prompt to take Harry into his arms and carry him to the shower, wasting hot water until Niall’s knot reduces and he can step back and wash Harry properly. He leaves Harry wrapped in a towel while he makes up the sofa with sheets and the guest room’s down comforter. He grabs Harry’s favorite pillow off the bed and is grateful to find it avoided their bodily fluids. When he comes back, Harry’s asleep with his head on his arms over the back of the toilet and just about the most precious thing in the world. He cooperates in being lifted back into Niall’s arms and taken to the sofa, fast asleep before Niall turns out the light.

Niall takes a bit longer, running his hands through Harry’s curls until they’re dry and won’t give him a chill. As he gets drowsy Niall realizes that the empty bed had nothing to do with why he couldn’t fall asleep earlier. The _bed_ is beside the point. He could be in the middle, left or right, on this sofa, on the floor, a cramped seat on a plane, a sleeping bag, or his coffin, probably, eventually, and the only thing that will let him rest is Harry, close enough to smell and wrap his arms around and wake up to. That’s the point, really: the assurance that will be the first thing he sees—first, next, and last, forever. 

The next time they make love, several hours later in the purple early morning light, Niall realizes just how big an idiot he’s been. Because there’s really no other way to describe the act: making love, an all encompassing expression of—of course—how much Niall loves Harry, but—and this is what he could never catch before—how much Harry loves Niall. Harry won’t break eye contact, runs his hands over Niall’s body reverently, says Niall’s name like it’s the meaning of life. And he’s always done this. How he ever thought Harry might wish he were anywhere else is beyond him. Harry can’t imagine anything better than this—better than Niall.

It’s amazing.

And convenient because Niall can’t imagine anything better than Harry. They’re a perfect match.

**Author's Note:**

> idek what that reality show is supposed to be. Like _The Bachelor_ meets _The Real World_ , I guess, with some matchmakers calling the shots. I'd watch it!
> 
> Did you find a typo or other monkey business in this fic? I know it can feel rude or pushy or just weird to tell authors about that stuff, so [I made a form where you can report it anonymously](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1--1RxNJyJCWZPaRyBeV6jtmUrcEI0zuUkDvoJoA6A_A/viewform). Thank you in advance for making a better reading experience for future readers.


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